


Don't Leave

by Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylsdarkplace/pseuds/Syls%20Darkplace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an old one from Cheebles on LJ. Some first time. Dean crosses the line and thinks he's screwed up everything. Not sure how it hold up after all these years. Let me know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been Sam’s third hunt. He was fifteen. And things had gone terribly wrong. Civilians had died, and Dean had gotten tossed around like a ragdoll. Sam had a nasty gash across the ribs. He put his hand over it. His side was slick with blood.

 

“Get your brother out of here,” John yelled at Dean. “I’ll take care of this mess.” He kicked at the werecat lying at his feet.

 

Dean just nodded and grabbed Sam’s arm.

 

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

“It’s not your fault, Sammy,” he growled.

 

Dean dragged him out of the warehouse and pushed him toward the Impala.

 

“Get in the car.”

 

Sam got in and pulled in a hissing breath as he bent. The gash felt more like a searing ache now. Dean slid behind the wheel, but he was holding his left arm funny.

 

“Dean, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, fine.” He started the car and put it in gear.

 

“Dean, don’t lie,” Sam said, his voice rising with fear.

 

“I’m fine, Sam,” Dean said with that stubborn tone he used when he was lying but thought speaking forcefully would convince Sam otherwise. “I just wrenched my shoulder. It’s fine.”

 

“Liar,” Sam said petulantly.

 

“You want to get out and walk, Sam?”

 

Just then the car hit a bump, and it sent a stabbing pain through Sam’s side. He yelped, and Impala swerved a little before Dean corrected the car.

 

“Sam? You okay?” Dean reached out for him, and Sam tried to shy away, but not before Dean felt the wet spot on Sam’s side. And his fingers came away dark with blood.

 

“Jesus, Sammy, why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“I’m okay. It’s just a cut.”

 

“You’re bleeding like stuck pig. God damn it, Sam.” Dean floored the Impala. “Do you need to go to the ER? And don’t lie to me.”

 

“No.”

 

“Sam.” Dean glanced at him in the dark.

 

“No, it’s over my ribs. You can stitch it up.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Yes.” They sat in silence for a moment. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

“Stop saying that.”

 

Dean barely slowed down before swerving into the motel parking lot, and he was out of the car and pulling Sam’s door open before Sam had time to react.

 

“Can you …”

 

“I can get out.”

 

“Okay,” Dean said grudgingly.

 

He followed Dean to the door and into the room. Dean was still holding his left arm protectively at his side. He turned to Sam.

 

“Let me see.”

 

“Dean, your arm.”

 

“God damn it, Sam, let me see.”

 

Sam pulled his hand away from his side and turned toward Dean. His hand and side were covered in blood. He gingerly pulled his shirt up to reveal a gash almost 4 inches long on his left side. He gently pulled the wound open and felt a little woozy when it briefly revealed the white of bone before it began to fill with blood again.

 

“Jesus… okay, Sam … Sam.” Dean’s voice cut through the buzzing in Sam’s ears. “Listen to me. I think my shoulder’s dislocated again, and I need you to help me reset it. Can you do that?”

 

Sam swallowed and nodded. He’d seen Dad do it the last time. He didn’t like it. Didn’t want to hurt Dean, but he could … he had to do it. Dean managed to shrug his jacket off and turned away from Sam, who placed his left hand on Dean’s shoulder and his right on his brother’s shoulder blade. This was going to hurt them both.

 

“Don’t be gentle, Sam. I want it done the first time.”

 

Before Dean could finish the sentence, Sam pushed hard with his right hand and pulled with his left. He felt the pop, and Dean grunted. Dean stood bent over and panting for a moment.

 

“Fuck, Sam, thanks, for not being gentle.”

 

“You said …”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know what I said. Come on, let’s fix you up.”

 

Sam followed his older brother into the bathroom, where Dean helped him off with his ruined shirt and washed the wound. Dean pressed a clean motel hand towel over the it.

 

“Hold that there and go lay down.”

 

“I’m not a baby. I …”

 

“God damn it, Sam, quit acting like one,” Dean yelled.

 

Sam turned and bumped into the door facing on the way out. His eyes burned with tears. Fucking baby. He was cold and shaky, but he laid down like he was told. Dean set a chair next to the bed and pulled the bedside lamp to the edge of the nightstand so he could see better.

 

“This is gonna hurt,” he said just before pouring Betadine over the wound.

 

Sam’s eyes flew open, and he came about halfway off the bed before Dean’s hand in the middle of his chest pushed him back down.

 

“See now the worst part is over,” Dean said. He saw Dean thread the needle, and he was right, the stitching wasn’t as bad as the antiseptic.

 

“Sammy, I need you to hold still.”

 

“I am,” Sam said. “But I’m cold.”

 

Dean stared intently at him. Sam didn’t know what Dean was looking for … oh, pale, clammy skin, dilated pupils, shallow breathing … shit, he was going into shock.

 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Dean was up and thrusting pillows under Sam’s feet and covering him with blankets. Dean looked scared. He quickly bandaged the stitched wound, kicked off his boots, and slid under the blankets with Sam. He pulled his little brother against his warm body.

 

“You okay, Sammy?”

 

Sam nodded against Dean’s chest.

 

“Yeah? Yeah? Okay, stay with me, baby.”

 

“M not a baby.”

 

Sam awoke sometime later to Dad and Dean’s voices.

 

“He gonna be okay?”

 

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. He … I stitched it up. He’ll have to be careful for a couple of weeks.”

 

“Did he lose a lot of blood?”

 

“Enough.” Dean sounded angry.

 

“Dean, you know there are always risks … for all of us.”

 

Dean didn’t reply, and Sam recognized the sound of his dad zipping his duffle.

 

“Okay, I’ll see you boys in a few days. Take care of Sammy.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered as though the order was the least bit necessary. Sam rolled his eyes behind closed lids.

 

The motel room door closed, and he heard the sound of the lock clicking and the chain sliding into place.

 

Dean slid back under the covers and pressed a hand to Sam’s cheek. Sam inclined his head slightly.

 

“Awake, huh?” Dean said. “You hear all that?”

 

“Some.”

 

“Dad’ll be back in a couple of days. He … he took care of … tonight.”

 

They just laid there in the dim light creeping between the curtains for a few moments.

 

“Dean, maybe I should go, you know, live with Pastor Jim or something.”

 

“What? Why?” He pulled back and searched Sam’s face. “Why would you do that?” His voice sounded a little panicked. Sam didn’t get that.

 

“Dean, people died tonight. We got hurt. You … the way that thing threw you … I just, I should go.”

 

“Sam.” Dean propped himself up on one elbow. “That isn’t your fault.”

 

“But it is, Dean.” He wanted to roll onto his side, but the gash was on that side. He was stuck on his back. It was hard to argue from that position. “You and Dad can’t focus when I’m around. You’re worrying about me and whether I can handle myself. I’m a handicap, Dean.”

 

“No, Sammy, that isn’t what happened. If anything distracted us, it was the civilians, Sam. It wasn’t you. You’re a Winchester. You can handle yourself. You did.”

 

Dean was just blowing smoke up his ass. Sam was sure of it. He knew Dean too well. He’d seen him tell shit stories to hundreds of people – teachers, social workers, girlfriends, cops – and he’d be damned if he’d believe this shit from Dean. Sam wasn’t a baby, and he wasn’t an idiot. He turned his head away from his older brother.

 

“Sammy, come on. Don’t be like that,” Dean said. His voice was gruff like he had a cold or was going to cry, but Dean didn’t cry. Dean slid closer to him. “Sammy, do you think my first hunts were easy? You think I didn’t question whether I could handle it? Whether I was putting Dad in danger? Huh?”

 

Sam looked back at Dean. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, absolutely. But you have an advantage I didn’t have, you got me.” Dean smirked. Typical, Dean, but Sam smiled anyway. Dean leaned closer and spoke almost into Sam’s ear. “You and me, Sammy, we’re a team, right?

 

Sam nodded.

 

“Don’t ever talk about going away, Sammy. Don’t you do that.”

 

Suddenly, Dean was covering Sam’s mouth with his own. Sam’s hands opened and closed reflexively, but he didn’t know what to do. Dean just kept kissing him, and it was … yeah, it was. Dean’s tongue pushed at the seam of Sam’s lips, and Sam opened for him. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never even kissed a girl like this with tongue and spit. Dean slid his right hand under Sam’s neck and tipped his head back a little. His left hand mirrored the gash on Sam’s side, sliding across his bare skin and making him shiver. Sam mimicked Dean’s movements and slid his tongue between Dean’s lips. Dean sucked at it, and the tug went straight to Sam’s cock.

 

Sam’s eyes flew open, and his hand pushed at Dean’s shoulder. What were they doing?

 

Dean’s left hand moved from Sam’s side to his hip and pushed him against the bed. Dean released his mouth and licked at the shell of his ear. “Sssh, Sammy, it’s okay.”

 

“Dean.”

 

“Hmm?” Dean was kissing and sucking his neck now.

 

“What … what are we doing?”

 

“First Aid, Sam, you need it.”

 

Sam giggled. “Dea…” His older brother thrust his tongue into his mouth again. “Ughgh.” Dean’s hand moved from his hip, and he began to palm Sam’s hard cock through his briefs. Sam’s hips jerked up.

 

“You like that, huh?” Dean leaned down and sucked at the skin over Sam’s collar bone. Worrying it in a way Sam knew would leave a mark. Sure, he’d seen Dean with hickies before. He wasn’t born yesterday.

 

“Dean, why…”

 

Dean turned his hips so his own hard on was pressed against Sam’s hip, and that was it. Instead of pushing on Dean’s shoulder, he wrapped his hand around his brother’s bicep and pulled him closer.

 

“Sam, careful, your stitches.”

 

“I’ll tell you if it hurts.”

 

“Okay, you better.”

 

“Dean.”

 

“What?”

 

“Is it … is this …”

 

“Ssh, Sammy, just let me take care of you.”

 

Sam nodded, and Dean slid his hand inside Sam’s briefs. Sam had tried to buy boxers, but Dean hadn’t let him. He’d only let Sam get tighty-whities as he called them. Sam had to wonder about that, but not right now. Not with his brother’s hand inside them pulling on his cock. Sam groaned. It shouldn’t feel that different from his own hand, but it did. Maybe, it was just the significance of whose hand it was. Maybe, it was the synchronized rock of Dean’s hard on against his hip. But Sam could feel the tension building in him, could feel his nerves sending out pulses of electricity everywhere. And his hips pulled up off the bed with Dean riding him, and he was yelling Dean’s name. Holy shit. Dean kissed him hard, and then went rigid against his hip whispering _Sam, Sam, Sammy, fuck_.

 

Dean got up a few moments later and pulled Sam to his feet.

 

“Come on, we better clean up. Nobody wants to wake up with their shorts glued to their dicks.” Dean headed for the bathroom, and Sam followed. Dean washed them both off and got clean underwear on them. He checked Sam’s stitches, which looked fine. Considering.

 

He followed Dean out of the bathroom and watched his brother pull back the covers on the unmade bed. He didn’t know what to think, but he got back in the other bed and lay staring at the ceiling for the next couple of hours.

 

***

 

Dean awoke pressed along the curve of his brother’s back. He didn’t know when Sam got in bed with him, but it didn’t matter. After what he’d done the night before, sleeping with Sam was pretty innocent. He hadn’t felt like that for a long time. As usual when he wakes he’s got a hard on, and normally that would freak him out a little pressed against his brother like that. Now, it just seemed like morning wood. It did until Sam shifted in his sleep and slid his ass against Dean’s cock. Dean sucked in a breath and dropped his face into Sam’s hair. He nudged it aside and kissed the back of Sam’s neck. When Sam didn’t stir, Dean nipped him.

 

Sam sat up and looked down at Dean. His eyes were round with surprise.

 

“Dean.”

 

Dean flopped over on his back and gazed sleepily up at him. Fuck, no wonder he’s hard. Sam doesn’t know it yet, how sexy he is. He hasn’t really grown into his body, but, holy shit, those long limbs beginning to really develop some muscle, those tilted hazel eyes, and that silly mop of hair. And his ass in those stupid white briefs, the way they hugged his tight little ass. Dean could feel himself leaking precome.

 

Dean let his hand glide down his brother’s back to the edge of his briefs. Sam’s eyes got a little wider. Dean’s fingers slid under the edge of the elastic band. Sam’s breath hitched in his throat.

 

“Dean, what’s going on with you?”

 

“You ever had sex with anyone, Sammy?

 

Sam’s face went red and he looked away. “Dean, you know I haven’t. Except …”

 

“Yeah, last night. That’s the closest you’ve come, huh?”

 

Sam nodded in embarrassment.

 

“But you should, Sam. You need to.” Dean sat up and knelt next to his little brother. “I have, you know that. Lots of times.” Dean leaned toward Sam, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, rougher. “But last night, Sam. God, last night, you, that was the hottest thing ever.” He kissed Sam’s neck and felt the flutter of Sam’s pulse against his lips. Sam tipped his head back offering himself to Dean, and it made Dean’s head spin. He sucked lightly at Sam’s neck. He caught sight of the mark he’d left on Sam’s collar bone and rubbed his thumb over it and continued to as he kissed his way to Sam’s ear.

 

“I’ll always take care of you, Sammy.” He licked the shell of Sam’s ear, and Sam seemed to vibrate under his hands. Dean’s cock ached, and he wondered if Sam’s did too. He let his hand drop between this brother’s thighs and, yeah, it was hard under the thin cotton. The promise of it made Dean’s heart speed up. Sam tipped his hips toward Dean’s caress. Dean smiled. Two heads are better than one, or would that be four.

 

Dean pushed Sam down onto the bed and pulled his briefs off. Sure, he’d seen Sam’s cock before but never this hard or up close or beautiful. He looked up at his brother, and Sam’s eyes were dark and hooded. His lips were parted. God, he looked so needy, so trusting. Dean wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock and licked a drop of precome from the tip. Sam’s hips bucked, and he mewled like a hungry puppy. Dean smiled. This wasn’t going to last long. No 15-year-old would last long on their first blow job. When he wrapped his mouth around Sam’s dick, he was a little surprised by both how big it felt and how it made his heart pound.

 

And, no, he’d never done this before. There had been a few guys he’d considered, but it hadn’t felt right. He had almost felt the disappointment before he even got started. He knew why now, of course. Because this felt like all he’d ever wanted. The hard and soft of it. The smell of Sam. The heat of him. And Dean took as much as he could without gagging. He wrapped his fingers around the base to make up for the length he couldn’t swallow. He sucked greedily and pulled off swirling his tongue along the ridge. He hollowed his cheeks taking it back in and looked up at Sam.

 

Sam’s eyes widened. “Dean,” he whispered and threw his head back. Dean felt Sam’s cock twitch and his mouth filled with slick, bitter come. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he straightened up and crushed his mouth down over Sam’s, sharing the load with his little brother. Instead of freaking out, Sam wrapped his arms and then legs around Dean and kept right on kissing him. This was nice and all, but Dean needed some relief and didn’t want to dry hump his brother’s hip again. He tried to pull away, and the moment there was some space between them, Sam’s hand slid between their bodies and into Dean’s boxers. Dean groaned. Sam’s hand moved up and twisted over the head. Again and again, and Sammy was pretty good at that. They rolled to the side, and Dean felt a twinge in his shoulder. He lifted up enough to pull his boxers down around his thighs. Sam was watching his own hand now. He licked his lips, and Dean felt his balls tighten. Sam licked his lips again, and Dean heard himself cry out. Felt come splash his belly, but his mind was blank. Pleasure erasing all thought. His hand on Sam’s ass was crushing Sam’s hand and his cock between them. He dropped his head forward and bit Sam’s shoulder.

 

“Ow, dickwad,” Sam said. Dean laughed and licked the spot he’d bitten. “Seriously, dude, that hurt.”

 

Dean pulled back and looked his little brother in the eye. “You almost get gutted by a werecat, but you complain about a little bite.”

 

“Jerk.”

 

“Bitch.”

 

***

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Dean.”

 

“No, Sam.”

 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

 

Dean just cocked an eyebrow at him and licked, bit his lip. Sam felt blood starting to run to his groin. Fuck, what was this some kind of Pavlovian response? Was he going to get a hard on every time he looked at his brother’s mouth now?

 

They’d been stuck in the motel room for two days with rain pouring down outside and almost no money left. Dean had licked, bit or sucked nearly every inch of his body. While he seemed partial to Sam’s cock, ass, and neck, he didn’t neglect any part. Sam had a particularly nasty bruise on the inside of his right upper arm and one on his left hip.

 

_Dean had been checking the gash on his side when he’d suddenly dropped to his knees, pulled Sam’s sweats down, and started sucking at the skin over is hip._

_Dean cupped Sam’s ass cheeks in his hands and sucked hard at the thin flesh covering the bone, and Sam felt his cock get hard just that fast. It hadn’t been more than a few hours since the last time, and Sam’s body remembered it … the hot, wet suction of Dean’s mouth, and fuck yes, Dean’s mouth was on his dick again. Sam looked down and Dean was gazing up at him with those huge, green eyes, and he couldn’t stop watching that beautiful mouth working his cock. Why was Dean doing this? What the hell was going on?_

_Dean lowered his eyes for a moment. Sam watched his eyelashes flutter, and Dean looked back up, eyes dark, pupils blown. And Sam realized Dean was getting off on this, on Sam watching. Sam could feel the tightness building, the ache, but he couldn’t come. Not with Dean watching him like this. He bucked his hips forward, pushing his cock into the back of Dean’s throat. Didn’t mean to. Dean’s eyelashes fluttered, but he rode it out, and Sam came hard. His hands clutched at Dean’s hair, almost pulling. Dean continued mouthing him through the pleasure to the pain._

_“Stop, stop, stop,” Sam whined. Finally Dean pulled off his softening cock. He pulled Sam down onto his lap and buried his face against Sam’s neck, kissing and licking. When he pulled away, he pushed his hand into his boxers and started stroking himself._

_“Dean let me …”_

_“Hush, Sammy.” Dean pulled his hand out and held two precome coated fingers to Sam’s lips. Sam opened his mouth, and holy shit, that felt right. Sam sucked them in. Dean gave him a crooked grin. “When you were little and got fussy, I’d put my finger in your mouth, and you’d suck on it ‘til it was all wrinkly.”_

_Sam felt a icky twist in his gut, but he couldn’t stop suckling his brother’s fingers. He let his eyes fall shut. He felt Dean reach between them and begin stroking himself with his other hand. Sam could feel the tension building in Dean. The stroking became faster, more urgent. Dean came with a grunt._

_“Okay, okay, Sam, give me my fingers back.”_

_Sam opened his eyes, and Dean slid his fingers out of Sam’s mouth. Sam felt a little sad. It was over. The connection was broken._

_“You can get off me now, Sam.”_

Sam looked across the room at his brother now, watching another rerun of the Andy Griffith Show, and needed … to talk about it or something. He was confused, but he was afraid to try to make Dean talk. Dean didn’t talk about stuff. And this was big, it was scary. Dean couldn’t just be okay with this. Could he?

 

“Quit staring at me, Sam.”

 

“Dean.”

 

“Don’t, Sam. Okay. Just don’t.”

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“Nothing. It’s raining and Dad’s gone and we’ve only got 12 channels. There’s nothing going on.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean said angrily. He started pulling his boots on.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Going for a walk.”

 

“It’s pouring down rain.” Sam felt a little panicked. Dean was trying to run from him. Things were not okay. “You don’t have to do that. I won’t talk to you anymore.” Sam sat back in the chair. Defeated.

 

Dean froze. After a moment he looked up at Sam.

 

“Sammy.” He sighed. After a few moments of silence, Dean kicked his boots off, and laid back on the bed. Stared at the ceiling.

 

“I’m sorry,” Sam said.

 

“Quit saying that.”

 

Sam flopped down on the opposite bed with a book and didn’t even look at his brother. But after about fifteen minutes, Dean sat up and started putting his boots on again. Sam tried to ignore it.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Going out.”

 

“What? Where?”

 

“I need a … a beer.”

 

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed. Dean pulled out his wallet and dropped a five dollar bill in Sam’s lap.

 

“Here, walk down to the mini-mart if you get hungry.”

 

“When are you coming back?” His voice sounded high in his own ears.

 

“Later.”

 

Sam didn’t even look at his brother as the door slammed closed. The fading rumble of the Impala’s engine left him empty. He laid back on the bed and rubbed his eyes. He listened to the rain.

 

Sam curled into a ball. He didn’t know why any of this happened. He didn’t know why his brother couldn’t keep his hands off him for two days or why he was alone now, but he felt like his chest was full of shards of glass. Whenever he moved they cut and tore at his insides. He tried not to think, not to want or need or feel. Tears leaked from his eyes in a steady stream. The worst thing had happened. The worst thing that could happen had.

 

Sam woke up with a headache. The room was almost dark and the rain had stopped. He turned on the bedside lamp. The clock said it was almost nine o’clock. The crumpled five dollar bill was lying on the bed beside him. He tossed it on the nightstand and got up. He felt stiff. His side hurt.

 

He plopped down in a chair at the small table by the window and turned the TV on. Another cop show rerun. He started shoveling Cheetos into his mouth and tried not to think about where Dean was or who he was with. When the Cheetos were gone, he found a Snickers bar he’d been saving in his duffel and ate it. He washed it all down with tap water from the bathroom sink.

 

He was still hungry. He eyed the five on the nightstand. He should just go to the mini-mart, but the idea of walking down there in the dark, the glare of the fluorescent lights, the smell and sound of the place, just opened the hole in his gut wider. It was too fucking pathetic.

 

He started stuffing things in this duffel bag – clothes, books, weapons. His jaw was clenched so hard he could hear his teeth grind. Fuck Dean, and not in a good way. Asshole. Out screwing some barmaid or barfly, whatever. Sam went into the bathroom and grabbed his stuff. He shoved it all in the duffel and zipped it up. Fuck this. Fuck this life. Fuck getting jerked around by Dad and now Dean. The one fucking person he thought he could count on. And, yeah, he’d spent a lot of time alone the past few months while Dean trolled bars, but he thought, he thought … what, that things would ever be different? That he wouldn’t be alone? That Dean would be there for him like he used to be?

 

Dean had left the throwing knives he’d been cleaning on the table, and Sam picked them up in quick succession and buried them in the wall above the bed.

 

“The fuck you doing, Sam?” Dean closed the door behind him.

 

Sam just picked up his duffel and tried to walk around his brother.

 

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

 

“Anywhere but here.”

 

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

 

Sam tossed the duffel bag down and shoved his brother. “What the fuck’s wrong with me? Are you serious? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why’d you leave me here? Why’d you leave?”

 

Dean was leaning back against the dresser where Sam had shoved him. He smelled like beer and cigarettes smoke. His eyes never left Sam’s face while Sam spoke, but now he dropped his gaze.

 

“I, Jesus, Sam, I needed a fuck.”

 

“You what?”

 

“Come on, I do it all the time.”

 

“It’s different now.” Sam felt the shards of glass tearing at his insides again. And, no, he didn’t want this. “Or isn’t it?”

 

Sam watched his brother’s composure crumble. “Jesus, Sam …”

 

“Did you think we could just pretend that nothing’s happened?” Sam stepped forward. “I’m here, and you went somewhere else. Why?”

 

“Sam.” Dean was pleading. “I didn’t …”

 

“Dean, please.”

 

“No, Sam. No.” Dean pulled himself up straight.

 

“Dean, have you … I mean, you know, with a guy?”

 

“No, and I’m not starting with you.”

 

“Then, we can just … like before.” Sam stepped toward his brother again and lightly touched his arm. “Please, let me …”

 

Dean suddenly pulled him into a hug, and he was shaking his head and crying. “No, no, no. I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry.” Sam wasn’t sure what Dean was apologizing for, but when Dean staggered against him, Sam realized how drunk his brother was.

 

“Okay, okay. It’s all right. Here sit down and take your boots off. Come on. You need to get some sleep. Okay?”

 

Dean sniffled. “Okay, yeah.”

 

Sam manhandled Dean over to the bed and helped him pull his shirt off, but when he reached for Dean’s fly, his brother’s hand locked around Sam’s wrist.

 

“Dean, you’re not going to sleep in your jeans.”

 

“I can get it.”

 

Sam backed up and put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Fine. You do it.”

 

By the time Sam got undressed, Dean was lightly snoring. Sam turned out the light and got in bed beside his brother. He pressed his chest against Dean’s back and wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist. He laid that way for a long time listening to his stomach growl.

 

***                                                                                                                                                       

 

Dean felt like something had crawled inside his mouth and died. When he opened his eyes, he was thankful the curtains were drawn, because the sliver of light coming through them was like a knife in the brain. He squeezed his eyes shut and was prepared to lie in bed a few more years when he realized his bladder was about to explode. So … shit, there was a giant Sam ape wrapped around him. Dean wiggled out from under his brother’s arms and legs and stumbled to the bathroom.

 

He took a good long piss and brushed his teeth double the usual time. He swallowed four aspirin with tap water and took a quick shower. Coffee. Jesus, he needed coffee. He pulled on sweats and a t-shirt. The sidewalk was still wet, but he didn’t bother with shoes. He went to the machines near the motel office. He knew it would taste like crap but deliver the caffeine. He got one for Sam too, and a Mountain Dew, just because you never know what Sam’s going to want in the morning. He knew he needed something in his stomach, so he got packages of Danish and chocolate donuts as well.

 

When he entered the room, he heard the shower running. He set the drinks and pastries on the table and eased into a chair. His headache had subsided to a dull ache. He sipped at a cup of scalding crap flavored mud. The shower shut off and Sam emerged in a cloud of steam moments later. Dean turned to see his brother in only his briefs bent over his duffel, and blood rushed to his cock.

 

“Sam …” Dean cleared his throat. “Sam.”

 

His little brother straightened and turned. His cheeks were pink from the heat and his hair was wet and tousled. Dean tried to focus on the neatly stitched wound on Sam’s side.

 

“Jesus, Sam, put some clothes on.”

 

“Screw you. I’m not responsible for your libido.”

 

Dean dropped his head in his hands. “Sam.”

 

“Look, I know, you don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want to talk about anything. Ever.”

 

Dean’s head snapped up because Sam was on the verge of shouting. “What?”

 

“You’re just like Dad. Ignore it and it never happened. Just pretend everything is okay. Well, it isn’t. You can’t do that, Dean. You can’t do that, and then just go off with some, some , whore.”

 

“Hey.” Dean was on his feet and shouting back. “You have no right. You don’t know …”

 

“The fuck I don’t. You think I don’t know you. Where you go. What you do. You think I can’t smell it on you when you come in smelling like beer and pussy.”

 

Dean stopped dead. “I didn’t.”

 

“No, last night you didn’t.”

 

“I couldn’t.” Dean turned away. “I kept thinking and drinking.” He let out a bitter laugh. “God, I’m sorry, Sammy. I’ve fucked things up.” He felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder.

 

“Dean, things were already fucked up.” Sam pulled at him and got him to turn around. “You don’t need to do that. I’m here.” He picked up Dean’s hand and sucked his first two fingers into his mouth. Dean tried to pull back, but Sam bit down. And, Jesus, Sam’s mouth was so soft and wet. This was so wrong right. Dean quit fighting it, and Sam quit biting. He put his other hand on Dean’s hip.

 

“Sammy.” Dean leaned in and licked at Sam’s lips wrapped around his fingers. Sam moaned and released Dean’s fingers. He grabbed Dean’s bottom lip in his teeth and sucked it. He licked into Dean’s mouth, tongue like a hungry kitten’s in cream. It hit Dean like a punch in the gut. Suddenly, every muscle, every nerve was focused on his brother’s body. All he wanted was everything, every inch of skin, mouth, cock, ass. All of it. All of Sam.

 

He pushed Sam back onto the bed. Fuck, look at that. Those long legs, flat stomach, pretty pink nipples. Dean pulled his t-shirt off and slid his sweats down. Sam was biting his lip, eyes heavy, never leaving Dean’s body. Dean climbed on the bed and covered his brother’s body. He sucked and teased first one nipple, then the other. Sam’s fingers were digging into his sides.

 

“Dean, Dean, I … please.”

 

“Please, what?”

 

“I don’t know, just …”

 

Dean sat up and pulled Sam’s briefs off. So beautiful. Somewhere in Dean’s mind he thought he’d have to reconcile the notion that cocks were beautiful, but now, now, God, he wrapped his hand around it and stroked. Sam sighed and his head fell back on the bed. He stroked again and Sam’s hips writhed. He was leaking precome. Dean’s hand was slick with the stuff.

 

“Stay still, Sam.”

 

“What?”

 

“Just wait. Keep your eyes closed.” Dean reached behind himself and pushed a finger into his asshole. He froze. It burned, but when he moved a little more if felt good too.

 

“Dean.”

 

“Just hang on a minute.” Dean pushed another finger in, and he was leaking precome too. His breathing was speeding up. He scissored his fingers and pushed a third in.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Shut up, Sam.” He pulled his fingers out and straddled Sam’s hips. He reached back and put the head of Sam’s cock against his hole. Sam’s eyes flew open as Dean started to lower himself onto Sam’s cock.

 

“Oh my God,” Sam moaned.

 

Dean barely heard him. He was too far fucking gone. It hurt. A lot. And felt so incredible. When he had all of it inside him, he stopped. So full, so tight. And this was Sam. Couldn’t have been anyone else. Sam was watching him. His fingers digging into Dean’s thighs. Dean pulled up, and holy fuck, the drag of skin against his insides. He sank slowly back down and the rub on that spot. There. Jesus, right there. Sam must really be leaking because there was just enough slick to prevent too much friction.

 

Dean’s cock was back to hard, and he started to stroke with the rhythm of his fucking. The thought of it – he was fucking himself on Sam’s cock – Sam was moaning and cussing and squirming.

 

“Not yet, Sammy. Wait for me.” Dean kept moving on Sam’s cock and stroking himself. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t describe it. Nothing like it ever, because this pleasure was everywhere. He was shaking with it, and it was gripping him, pushing him over the edge. His muscles were clamping down hard on Sam’s cock, and he was shooting come all over Sam’s belly and chest. And this hurt too like a knife edge of bliss.

 

And Sam arched up off the bed, shoving his cock hard and deep into Dean, and the pleasure was shooting through Dean again. He collapsed on Sam’s chest, panting. Sam whimpered and his hips twitched.

 

“Dean, oh my God, Dean.”

 

Dean pressed his face against his brother’s neck. “Ugh, I need a shower.” He felt Sam’s laughter vibrate through his chest, which was slick, sticky against his.

 

“Dean.”

 

Dean lifted his head. “What?”

 

Sam caught his lips with his own and pushed his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Dean started to pull away and then surrendered to it. Kissing deep and wet into Sam’s mouth. Pulling away from Sam’s mouth, Dean realized his brother’s cock was still inside him. He slid off Sam, and immediately missed the fullness, the completeness he’d felt. He grabbed Sam’s wrist and pulled him off the bed.

 

“Let’s get a shower.”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was dark when Sam awoke, and Dean was pressed against the curve of his back, his fingers curled against Sam’s stomach and his breath hot on Sam’s neck. This was right, comforting. This is where his brother should be. And earlier, Dean riding him had been the closest connection Sam had felt in years. The look on Dean’s face, devoid of guilt or pain or fear, had filled Sam’s chest with something like to joy. He felt so content now – warm and safe. This was home, he thought. Just him and Dean together. They were all they needed.

 

He rolled over in the circle of Dean’s arms and nuzzled against his brother’s neck. Dean stirred, stretched and settled again. He sleepily kissed Sam’s forehead.

 

“Shh, Sammy, s’okay.”

 

Sam smiled and kissed Dean’s neck – licked and sucked at it. His hand slid down and cupped Dean’s ass. He pulled their hips closer together. He was already getting hard. He didn’t want to leave a mark on Dean’s neck, so he moved down to his collar bone and sucked at the skin there. Dean arched against him, still not quite awake, but his dick was. Sam chuckled.

 

“Sam?”

 

“Can’t sleep.”

 

“Why?”

 

In answer, Sam latched on to Dean’s bottom lip, and Dean let out a sound that was something like a growl. Sam licked into Dean’s mouth, over the edge of his teeth and slick tongue, and Dean sucked Sam’s tongue into his mouth, pulling hard at it. Sam felt the suction all the way to his groin. He rubbed himself against Dean and clutched at his shoulders. He ran his hands over Dean’s back and down to his ass. And Dean was holding him so tight and kissing his jaw, his ear, his neck.

 

Sam felt so full, it felt like his chest might burst … And Dean’s cell phone rang. Dean grabbed it off the nightstand.

 

“Dad? … Yeah … Okay … Milton, okay … right … Wait, how long? … What about Sam? … Yes, sir. Yes, sir.” Dean clicked the phone off and stared at it.

 

“What now?”

 

“That was Dad.”

 

“Yeah. What did he say?”

 

“There’s spirit in a hardware store in Milton he wants us to check out.”

 

“Wait. Just you and me?”

 

“Yeah. That’s what he said.”

 

“Where’s he?”

 

“He didn’t say. He just said he wants us to handle this. Simple salt and burn.”

 

“Yeah, how often does that turn out,” Sam scoffed.

 

“He thinks we can handle it, Sam.”

 

“Seriously? After the last hunt?”

 

“I told you that wasn’t your fault. I don’t want to hear about it again. If Dad thinks you’re ready, you are.”

 

“I don’t get a say?”

 

Dean sighed. “Sammy … Jesus, why do you have to be such a pain in the ass?” Dean fell back against the pillows.

 

Sam started to apologize and thought better of it. “So when’s Dad coming back?”

 

“He didn’t say.”

 

“What did he say?”

 

“He said we might not hear from him for awhile.”

 

“How long is that?”

 

“Awhile, Sam, awhile. I don’t know how long that is.” Dean sat up. “We should get going.”

 

Sam grabbed his arm. “It’s two o’clock in the morning and Milton is only two hours away. What are we going to do, drive over there and check into another motel?”

 

“Think you’re so smart.”

 

Sam sat up and kissed his brother.

 

“Sammy.”

 

“It’s just us, Dean.”

 

Dean turned his head toward Sam and met his eyes, and Sam put all his need into that look. “Want you.” Sam let his hand drop to Dean’s dick. It was soft, but only for moments with Sam’s hand on it. Dean kissed him long and deep. Dean’s mouth really lived up to all its promises, Sam thought.

 

“It was good, wasn’t it? Earlier, I mean. Me inside you?” Sam asked.

 

“Yeah, yeah, it was,” answered as he kissed his way down Sam’s neck.

 

“I want that. I want you in me.”

 

“No.”

 

“Dean …”

 

“It’s not going to happen, Sam.”

 

“Dean.” Sam pushed his brother far enough away to look him in the eye. “It is going to happen.”

 

“Not tonight.”

 

Sam got off the bed and rummaged through Dean’s duffle for tube of lube. He squeezed some out on his fingers as he crawled back onto the bed. He reached back and slid a finger into his hole. He let out a small gasp through parted lips.

 

“Don’t you do that, Sam.”

 

He couldn’t tell if the look on Dean’s face was anger or lust – maybe both. Sam started sliding the finger in and out. His hips twitched. He pushed a second finger in.

 

“Stop it.”

 

“You won’t do it. I will.”

 

Sam was fucking himself on his fingers in earnest now, not just toying with his brother, because holy fucking Christ, it felt incredible. His dick was leaking copious amounts of precome, and he knew he had Dean when his brother reached out a finger and dipped up precome and licked his fingers. Dean’s eyes were lust dark, and he kissed Sam hard, crushing is lips against his teeth.

 

“Lay down.” Dean pulled Sam’s hand away from his body. “Don’t touch that. It’s mine.”

 

Sam felt his heart slam in his chest, and he scrambled to lie down. Dean slicked his cock and pushed Sam’s knees up.

 

“This is going to hurt, Sammy.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

And, God, it did hurt, sharp and shocking, and Dean didn’t stop until he was balls deep in his little brother. Then, he leaned over and kissed Sam hungrily. This was right, Sam thought.

 

“Mine,” he whispered before he started moving. Sam smiled. _Yeah, mine,_ he thought.

 

***

 

The spirit in Milton turned out to actually be a simple salt and burn. The owner of the hardware store had died six months earlier, and the widow had sold the store to a new owner who had begun to make a lot of renovations and other changes. The more changes that happened, the angrier and more aggressive the spirit of the previous owner had become.

 

That’s how Dean found himself filling in a grave at 3 a.m. in Milton, Iowa with his little brother. It was a beautiful summer night, and he and Sam worked in companionable silence. Dean paused and watched Sam shovel dirt on the grave for a moment. The focus on the task and efficiency of movement – Sam was …

 

“What? You done?” Sam asked. Dean snapped out of his thoughts.

 

“Yeah, well, that’s about it,” Dean replied.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Simple salt and burn.” Dean grinned.

 

Sam just shook his head and started walking toward the Impala. Dean caught up and threw an arm around his brother’s shoulders – while he still could easily. Sam wasn’t so little anymore. He could look Dean in the eye, and Dean realized that Sam would be taller before too long. How the fuck did that happen? It was just wrong, he thought. Sam put his arm around Dean’s waist and gave him a brief hug.

 

They tossed the shovels in the car and walked around to their respective sides.

 

“You know what? I could use a beer, how about you?” Dean said.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, get in.”

 

Dean stopped at a truck stop near the interstate. Sam filled the Impala with gas while Dean went inside. Sam was already in the passenger’s seat when Dean emerged. He passed a six-pack of Leinenkugel’s and a small pizza box to Sam as he got in.

 

“Wow, what’s the celebration?” Sam asked.

 

“Life, Sam. Sometimes it doesn’t suck.” He grinned. Sam shook his head and smiled. And that smile, that was all Dean wanted.

 

Dean headed north on a two-lane black top for about five miles before turning off into a farmer’s field access. He turned off the headlights and rolled forward under the light of the full moon for a couple hundred feet. He turned the car off, grabbed the beer, and got out. Sam followed with the pizza.

 

Dean sat on the warm hood of the car, opened a couple beers and handed one to his little brother who was six years shy of legal drinking age. Contributing to the delinquency of a minor was the least of his worries. His brain totally shied away from statutory rape. Categorizing the crimes and misdemeanors in is life … fuck, even the ones Dad knew about. No, Dean wasn’t going there. They were criminals. That was their lives, how they were raised. Dean wasn’t going to sweat the small things, the personal things between him and Sam. Love’s not a crime.

 

By the time they’d finished the pizza, they were on their second beers. Even under the full moon, it was dark. The line between the sky and the earth was barely discernable on the horizon. The yard light from a farm was visible in the distance. But the air was filled with sound – crickets and cicadas buzzed all around, and frogs – there must be a farm pond nearby because he could hear frogs adding to the general low din.

 

Dean laid back on the hood.

 

“You know, Sam, you should go to college.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Because, dude, you’re so smart and you like that stuff.”

 

“What would … Dean, I don’t need to go college. We’re hunters. I don’t need college for that.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, but you know, someday …”

 

“What the hell, Dean. The other day you were trying to get me to stay. Do you want me to leave now?”

 

Dean sat up. “No. No, Sam, I don’t want you to leave. It’s just … I don’t, I don’t want you to leave, but I don’t want to hold you back when you could do more. You could … be more.”

 

“Be more? What does that even mean?”

 

“You’re really smart, Sam, like genius smart. You could be anything – a doctor, you know, or a lawyer or something. You don’t have to live on stolen credit cards and hustling pool. You could have a real life.”

 

Sam scooted closer to him like he was straining to see Dean’s face better. Dean dropped his eyes.

 

“Dean, you’re smart. Maybe not like book smart – although I know you could have done better in school if you’d tried – but you’re smart with other stuff. You figure out lots of stuff about hunts before Dad or I do, and you’re really smart at outwitting the cops and stuff. And look at how good you are at keeping the Impala running, do you think that doesn’t take smarts? It does. I can’t do it. You’re just a different kind of smart.”

 

Dean didn’t say a word. He just sniffed and took a drink of beer.

 

“Anyway, who says I want a real life. We’re a team, right? That’s all I need … want.”

 

“Sam …” But Dean didn’t finish the statement and it hung in the air.

 

“Do you ever think about having a real life?” Sam asked.

 

“No.” He shrugged and took a drink. “Sometimes. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if Mom hadn’t died.” The words came out so quietly, he didn’t know if Sam even heard.

 

“What was she like?”

 

Dean searched his mind and found only brief images, moments … a kiss on the forehead, his fingers twined in blond hair, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crust cut off, a hand rubbing his back while he threw up, a loving voice that scolded him for tracking in mud … A sob caught in his throat. He rubbed his eyes.

 

“I … I barely remember, Sam.” His voice broke. That couldn’t be true, could it? His face was wet with tears. Sam’s arms went around him, and he was sobbing on his little brother’s shoulder like a baby. Sam just held him. He didn’t say a word.

 

After a few moments, Sam pulled back. He pressed his forehead against Dean’s and ran his thumbs over Dean’s wet cheeks.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He gave Dean a chaste kiss.

 

“God, Sam, how can I not remember?”

 

Sam was silent for a minute. “Do you remember changing my diapers and helping me learn to walk and all that?”

 

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Jeez, your diapers, ugh.”

 

“Yeah, well I don’t remember any of that. I just don’t think people remember much from when they’re really young, you know. You were only four when mom died. It’s surprising you remember as much as you do.”

 

Dean swiped at his eyes and nodded. “What do you remember, Sam?”

 

“I remember being scared, and you kept saying it was just the wind. But ...”

 

“But what?”

 

“You seemed kind of … worried or something. And you put Dad’s .44 on the coffee table and wrapped us up in a blanket on the couch. You couldn’t have been more than seven.”

 

Dean put his arm around Sam and pulled him close. “Oregon, we were living in a single-wide, and yeah, I was seven. Dad was on a hunt.” Dean kissed Sam’s hair. “I didn’t sleep the whole night. You kept waking up and asking if it was out there.”

 

“You said it wasn’t.”

 

“I lied, Sammy. It was. I was trying to convince myself it wasn’t, but the next morning I found claw marks near the door and two windows.”

 

Sam pulled back and even in the dark Dean could see his eyes were round. “Jesus, Dean …”

 

“Yeah, I called Dad, and he came right back.”

 

“What was it?”

 

Dean shook his head. “Dad never said, but he took care of it. It never came back.”

 

Sam nodded. “But he left us there … two little kids.”

 

“Sam …”

 

Sam bit his lip. “Thanks, Dean, for, you know, watching out for me.”

 

Dean sat back and shrugged. “It’s what I do, Sammy. You want another beer.”

 

Even in the dim light, Dean could see Sam’s smile or maybe he just knew him that well.

 

“Trying to get me drunk?”

 

“Do I need to?”

 

“No.”

 

“No, what?”

 

“No, I don’t want another beer right now.” Sam leaned in and kissed him, and Dean’s hand cupped the back of Sam’s head. His fingers slipped up into Sam’s hair.

 

“Dean.”

 

“Hmm? Yeah, Sam?”

 

“You know what I want?”

 

“What?”

 

“I want you to bend me over the hood of the car and fuck me until I can’t walk.”

 

It felt like a punch in the gut, and yeah, Dean wanted that too, but he laughed. “I don’t think I should take advantage of you when you’re drunk.”

 

“I only had two beers.” Sam sucked at the skin on Dean’s neck. “I’m not drunk. I’m horny.”

 

Holy fuck, Dean’s dick was steel straining against his jeans. When he said his brother’s name this time it came out as a gasp. Sam’s hand was on his crotch, rubbing the length of his hard on. His other hand was digging into Dean’s ribs to pull him closer.

 

“Sam, Sam, come on. This isn’t fair, dude.” He tried to pull away, but Sam was having none of it. “You know what a whore I am.”

 

“Mine,” Sam said briefly easing up on sucking at Dean’s skin.

 

“What?”

 

“Mine, now. Not a whore.”

 

Dean felt some strange stillness inside him. He was Sam’s and Sam wasn’t going to let him forget it. Dean had been looking at this all wrong. He was Sam’s, and Sam wasn’t going to leave.

 

Sam pulled back and looked intently at Dean in the moonlight.

 

“We’re a team, right?”

 

“Yeah. Yes, Sam. Yeah.”

 

Sam slid off the hood of the car and unbuckled his belt. He moved between Dean’s spread legs where his boot heels were caught on the chrome bumper. Dean pulled him in and kissed him, sweeping his tongue into his brother’s mouth. Sam hummed approval, and Dean chuckled.

 

“Sam, this is …”

 

“This is us. I know, Dean. It’s okay.” His hands slid up under Dean’s shirt and over his velvety skin. Dean held Sam’s head in his hands and grasped his bottom lip in his teeth, sucked on it. Sam moaned into his mouth and palmed Dean’s dick through his jeans before he got back to getting his own jeans off.

 

Dean found himself rock hard watching the way Sam frantically tried to get out of his pants and to kiss Dean at the same time.

 

“Whoa, slow down, Sammy,” Dean laughed.

 

“Need you.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, me too.”

 

By the time Dean got his jeans down around his knees, Sam was bent over the hood of the car, and God, he was beautiful. All that pale skin and muscle looked like a marble in the moonlight. Dean ran his hands over Sam’s ass and back, and Sam squirmed with anticipation. Dean grasped Sam’s ass cheeks in his hands and pulled them apart. He bent and pressed the tip of tongue to flesh behind Sam’s balls. Sam gasped and his hand banged down on the hood of the Impala.

 

“Hey, gentle,” Dean scolded, but he was smiling. His tongue swept up and over Sam’s hole, and Sam whimpered. Dean swirled his tongue around the tightly furled hole then, pushing gently at it over and over, and Sam gasped with every touch. He pushed it in farther each time, and it loosened slowly but surely under his attention. He pressed his lips to the puckered opening, sucked gently, and Sam let out a high keening sound. There was spit running down Dean’s chin, but he didn’t notice. He was focused on all the pretty noises coming from his little brother.

 

“Awww, please, Dean, please, need it.”

 

“Yeah, think you’re ready?”

 

“Please, please, please.”

 

Dean stood and spit into his hand. Slicked his cock and pressed the head to Sam’s hole. And Jesus Christ, Sam was opening right up to him – tight and hot. Oh my God, like a desperate, needy mouth. Dean sank all the way in. He leaned over and kissed Sam’s shoulder.

 

“Okay?”

 

“God, yes, yes. Fuck me.”

 

Dean dropped his forehead against Sam’s back.

 

“Jesus, Sammy, you’re killing me.”

 

He raised up and grasped Sam’s hips and started moving at first with long, slow thrusts, and then with increasing speed. Sam was moaning and cursing in time with Dean’s movements.

 

“Dean, Dean, aww, fuck, harder, yeah, yeah, so good, mmm ….” Sam kept up a running monologue that slowly became less and less articulate, and Dean found it harder and harder to even think a coherent thought, because he was just there, right there where his flesh touched Sam’s – his hands on Sam’s hips, the rub of his hips on Sam’s ass, his cock in Sam’s molten channel. So perfect, so wrong, so absolute, so necessary. As if they needed anything more to bond them. Dean felt something rise in him, and he ran his hand over Sam’s back, arching over him as he pumped his come into his brother.

 

A deep possessiveness, that’s what was filling him. Sam was his as well.

 

“Sam, God, Sammy.” Dean was still.

 

“Dean, Dean, I need …”

 

“Oh, sorry, Sammy.” He pulled out and dragged his pants up without bothering to zip up. He turned Sam around and pushed him up onto the hood of the Impala. Sam was panting, and Dean took a moment to admire him in the moonlight – long limbed and pale. Dean bent and took Sam’s cock into his mouth. Sam moaned and his head thumped back on the hood. Dean took him all the way down, swirling his tongue over the vein along the bottom, and on the upstroke, he flicked at the slit with the tip of his tongue and then sucked firmly at the head. Sam cried out, and Dean’s mouth filled with slick, bitter come. Dean just kept licking and sucking until Sam was begging him to stop.

 

“Trying to kill me,” he whimpered. “Fuck.”

 

Dean laughed and pulled him up into a sitting position. Sam locked his mouth over Dean’s again, licking his taste out of Dean’s mouth.

 

Dean jumped when his cell phone rang in his pocket. Shit. He pulled it out.

 

“Hello … yeah … taken care of … yep, simple salt and burn, like you said.” Dean was still leaning between Sam’s bare legs. “Yeah … okay … sure, we’ll head out there.” Dean was gazing directly into Sam’s eyes. “Right. Oh yeah, Sam’s healing fine. Bye, Dad.” Dean flipped the phone closed and leaned in and kissed Sam. It was slow and deep. He paused for a moment when he pulled away.

 

“Zip up, Sam. We’re going to Montana.”

 

 

The end

 


End file.
